Then—slowly—he nods.

I shift closer, kneeling before him, power already pooling in my palms. For a beat, I hesitate—I don’t want to touch him. But his injuries look painful, and my healer’s training supersedes any hatred I harbor for him.

Gently, I press my hands to the bare skin of his neck, trying my best to ignore the faint scratch of his stubble against my palms.

“Not trying to strangle me, are you?” he mutters.

I ignore him, focusing instead on sensing his injuries. Despite the poor state of his face, he’s relatively unharmed—except for a contusion on his thigh, so large I’m shocked he can walk without limping.

First, I heal his swollen eye, then the other cuts and bruises marring his face. I even heal his swollen nose from where I headbutted him. Within minutes, his face returns to its normal, handsome state.

He is handsome. Objectively. Irritatingly.

Doesn’t mean I hate him any less.

With his face healed, I’m left with a dilemma.

To heal his leg, I need contact with his skin. Which means asking him to take off his pants. I really do not want to do that.

Or I could keep touching his neck and channel my power through his entire body until I reach his leg. Messy. Draining. But possible.

I bite my lip. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering a second too long.

That decides it.

I return my palms to his neck.

Power hums from my hands, flowing through his muscles, bones, tissue. Every battered, aching inch of him.

He better remember this next time he thinks about tying me up.

When my power hits his leg, I focus—soothing the inflammation, mending the damage. When I draw back, a quiet gasp escapes me. My limbs are heavy, my head light.

Zevayr studies me with narrowed eyes. “That drained you.”

Not a question.

He’s right. My reserves are low, and between the battle, travel, hunger, and now this, I’m running on fumes.

“Thank you,” he adds quietly.

I blink. Did he just—?

“Eat another piece of jerky. Then, sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

I’m already lying down on the far side of the blanket before he finishes the sentence.

It feels like I’ve just closed my eyes when he’s shaking me awake.

“Mayah,” he whispers. I ignore him. “Mayah.” Louder. “You’re shivering. Come sleep beside me.”

That gets my attention.

My eyes snap open, and I glare into the darkness.

“Absolutely … not.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not getting … anywhere … near … you.”

“Your teeth are literally chattering. Do you want to freeze to death? Or did they skip basic survival training at your precious palace?”

“I—I don’t…” I try to argue, but my voice stutters with every word.

“Lightning strike me,” he swears under his breath.

Then, before I can blink, he scoops me up and drags me to his side of the blanket. His muscled arms wrap around me like a furnace, and he drapes his heavy cloak over us both. My frozen nose presses against his chest, and—Tides drown me—he’s so warm.

His heat seeps into me like a slow, treacherous tide. Unbidden, a soft moan slips free.

I hate that it feels good.

I hate that it feels safe.

I am anything but safe with him. I can’t let myself forget that.

“You promised … not to … touch me,” I grumble, voice thick with exhaustion. He smells like smoke and pine.

“I take it back. I won’t touch you unless you’re about to die of your own idiocy.”

I hate him. I really do.

I’m about to say as much, but a yawn betrays me.

“Can’t have the princess of Tundrayn dying on my watch,” he murmurs.

“You said I was the princess of nothing,” I whisper into the heat of his chest.

I don’t hear if he replies. Sleep swallows the rest.

CHAPTER NINE

“YOU’RE THE PRINCESS OF nothing.” It’s a threat gritted out through clenched teeth. I can taste the rage on his breath when —

A groggy sigh escapes me. My bed is hard—strangely hard—beneath my back. What time is it? By the Tides, if I’m late for another council meeting, Father will—

“Did you get enough beauty sleep, Princess?” a deep voice drawls.

Tides drown me.

My blood turns to ice as yesterday’s events crash through my mind like a raging tidal wave. I yank his cloak off my face, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight.

Zevayr’s leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, glaring at me.

“I’ve been awake for hours,” he adds drily. “Hurry up and eat.” He jerks his head toward the edge of the blanket where he’s laid out dried meat and a handful of nuts. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

With slow movements, I throw off the cloak completely and stand.

“You could have woken me,” I snap, smoothing out my tunic.

His gaze rakes me from head to toe, and I try not to shiver under his intense scrutiny. Tides, I’d slept in his arms last night. My cheeks heat, and I whirl and storm through the trees before he sees the damning redness on my face.

Arms crossed against the frigid morning air, I find a suitable spot far enough away from camp to relieve myself.

I might have frozen to death if he hadn’t noticed—and forced me to share his body heat. The thought twists something deep in my gut.

Obviously he needs me alive.

That’s all it is. I’m betrothed to his brother.

I scrub clean snow over my face, then rinse out my mouth, hoping the jarring cold will settle my racing heart.

By the time I return to camp, Zevayr is pacing the clearing, raking a violent hand through his hair. My steps must be louder than I think, because even from a distance he whirls toward me—brows drawn tight, teeth bared and ready to deliver another cutting remark.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I ask again, did they not teach you basic survival skills in Tundrayn?”

“What are you talking about?” I bite out. I wring my hands together because otherwise I’ll strangle him.

“You spent ages in the woods,” he snarls. “What if something happened? What if more rebels are nearby? I didn’t save your ass from freezing just so you can keep endangering yourself.”

“Why didn’t you just come find me, then?”

“I was about to. I wasn’t sure if you’d be … indecent.”

I roll my eyes, turning to hide my flush. I refuse to be drawn into another bickering match with him. I scoop up the food he left out.

“Let’s go, then. I’ll eat as we walk.”

Tides help me, this is only day one.

Snow begins to fall as we trudge between densely packed trees, the light flurry quickly thickening. Heavy flakes thread through my hair and cling to my lashes. My fingers ache from the cold. I blow hot air over the tips, though it doesn’t help much.

At least the snow will cover our tracks.

Zevayr glances back. He’s been single-minded about covering ground, but his gaze snags on my chapped, reddened hands. His brows knit together. “You didn’t think to pack gloves?” he asks, his deep voice laced with dry amusement.

He slows beside me, peeling off his own. The gloves hang between us, like a truce begging to be broken.

“I did pack gloves,” I hiss. “They were probably in one of the other carriages that exploded. Didn’t you think to check after you tied me up?”

His jaw ticks. He shakes the gloves again, sharper this time.

“No, thank you,” I snap, even as my fingers scream.

His gaze pins me in place.

“Remember when I said I’d only touch you if you were being an idiot?” I flinch. His voice is low. Dangerous. “Don’t make me hold you down and put them on for you.”